Untitled
by Varilynn
Summary: This is the middle of a story I'm throwing out to get reactions for, and ideas, to develope it further - basically, Sam has a little breakdown


Untitled 

**Author:** Varilynn

**Genre: **General

**Rating: **PG-13

**Status: **Incomplete

**Disclaimer: **I have no legal claim to the characters and ideas of Stargate SG-1, and am making no money by writing stories about it.

**Author's Note:** This is a fragment of a story that I'm thinking of writing.  I'm throwing it out here to get opinions and see if I should take the time to develop it.  This is the middle of the story, and the idea I had first.  The beginning and ending will be written around it, as soon as I figure out what they will be.  Comments, suggestions, ideas are all welcome.

Frustrated, angry, Sam turned and slammed her hand into the window beside her.  The impact rushed from her open palm up her arm and jarred her shoulder.  She watched in horrid fascination as her hand continued through the window followed by her forearm.  The glass gave way to form a jagged hole that enclosed her arm up to her elbow.  

Slowly Sam pulled her hand back through the window.  There was an astonishing amount of blood staining the carpet.  Her eyes were drawn to the long, deep gash that ran up her wrist.  It was obvious, given the colour of the blood and the intensity with which it left her body, that the glass had sliced through the artery.  

Knees suddenly weak, Sam slumped to the floor in a half-hearted attempt not to fall down.  She stared at her arm in shock, aware that the adrenaline that had cause the injury was still numbing the pain.  She didn't know how long that would last, but she didn't have the time to find out.  

For a moment she paused.  What if she just did nothing.  What if she sat here until she passed out from lack of blood, a certainty in the near future, and simply drifted away?  No one would blame her.  After all, no sane person would deliberately put their hand through a window.  Right?  Or had she done it deliberately.  Had she known that this could happen, that she'd end up bleeding out on her living room floor considering the end of her life.  Perhaps her unconscious mind had already thought all this through before she'd even walked in the house that night.  

It would be so simple now that the damage had been done.  She didn't know enough people who would really miss her.  She had no life outside the SGC.  She'd told him that once, the Colonel.  Get a hobby, he'd suggested.  Oh God, the Colonel.  And Daniel and Teal'c.  Her friends.  Her family.  The people who were depending on her to get them home.  They were stuck on some planet thousands of light years from Earth, and she was wasting her time dying the carpet red.  

The phone, she could see, was on the edge of the island counter in the kitchen.  The kitchen with it's nice neat tiles, much easier to clean then the carpet.  Moving slowly to combat a wave of dizziness, Sam hauled herself up and stumbled over to the phone.  Leaning against the counter she dialled Janet's number with shaking fingers.  Holding the phone with her shoulder she awkwardly wrapped a dishtowel around her arm and pressed down hard.  She gasped as this swept the last of the adrenaline from her system and the pain finally hit her.  Her vision blurred and she slumped on the floor again, this time not bothering to go down gently.  She leaned against the counter, tucking her arm against her stomach and drawing her knees up.  

The phone slid down into Sam's hand again and she pressed it to her ear.  After what seemed like an eternity as Sam listened to her heat beat a sleepy voice answered.  "Janet?" Sam whispered, "I need you."

*              *              *

The shrill ring of the phone cut through Janet's dream and roused her from a deep sleep.  Groaning she considered not answering it.  A glance at the glowing clock told her it was a little after 2am.  _Who the hell is calling this late?  If it's one of Cassandra's friends I'm unplugging the phone for a week_.  

But sometimes if there was an emergency at the base she was called in.  As the Chief Medical Officer it was her duty to answer.  Maybe the rest of SG-1 had returned.  Even though she'd practically ordered Sam to go home and sleep, she wouldn't have been surprised to find her back in the mountain. 

 Janet rolled off the bed and landed on her feet with the ease of practice.  She turned on the light to wake herself up completely and picked up the phone.  "Hello?"

"Janet?"  She heard a hoarse whisper on the other end of the line.  "I need you."

"Sam?  What happened, are you all right?  Where are you?"  As she spoke Janet was already reaching for her clothes and striping out of her pyjamas.

"I'm at home.  I had…an accident.  I…cut myself.  I need your help.  Can you come?"

Janet left a quick note for Cassandra on the message board on her door put there for just this reason.  "Of course.  You sit tight, Sam, I'll be right there."  

She tossed the phone on the couch in the living room, pulled on a t-shirt, and slipped on her running shoes.  Grabbing her car keys and emergency bag and running out of the house, she wondered just what her friend had done to herself.  

It wasn't often she received calls in the middle of the night for something non-Stargate related.  And even then it was rarely for Sam.  Daniel, yes, and the Colonel had a nasty habit of showing up injured.  But Sam and Teal'c, the two of them combined didn't make as many trips to the infirmary as Daniel.  Mind you whenever Sam did get hurt, it was usually pretty sever.  Jolinar dying in her brain and having her consciousness dumped into a computer was only the beginning of the list of things Sam Carter had gone through in the last five years.   

Her headlights cut through the darkness between street lights and Janet dove much faster than she normally found comfortable.  Besides the fact that Sam had called her at all, her voice had given Janet a sense of urgency.  Whatever had happened must have been serious, and Janet wanted to get there as fast as she could.  

She pulled up behind Sam's car and yanked on the parking brake.  Then she was out the door and heading up the porch steps, fumbling for the key Sam had given her years ago.  The house was dark except for the kitchen.  "Sam?" Janet called.  

A muffled thump answered her and she hurried down the hall towards the light.  When she reached the doorway she froze for an instant as the part of her that was Samantha Carter's best friend was horrified at what she saw.  Sam was lying crumpled on the floor in what was rapidly becoming a pool of blood.  Her right wrist was wrapped in a soaked towel.  Her face was white, completely leached of colour.  Then the doctor took over and she rushed to kneel at Sam's side.  With a strange clinical detachment she started her examination.  

A quick look at Sam's eyes showed that she was unconscious, which might be a problem if she needed to be moved to the hospital or infirmary.  Gently unwrapping the towel revealed a jagged gash a good six inches long.  Blood was still flowing weakly from the severed artery.  Janet grabbed a clean towel and tightly re-wrapped it.  She glanced around briefly for clues as to what had happened and saw the hole in the window.  In an instant she took in the shard that hadn't broken, the blood glistening on it, and the pieces of glass lodged in Sam's hand.  She shook her head and reached for the phone lying on the floor.  

"Sam, what have you done to yourself," she muttered as she dialled the extension for the infirmary.  She gave the on-duty nurse her instructions as she prepared a stimulant and injected it in Sam's neck.  Normally it would have been better to keep Sam unconscious so her heart beat slower, but in this case Janet needed her to walk to the car.  There was no time to wait for someone to come and help her, and she tried to keep Sam out of the hospital when she could.  You never knew when a doctor or nurse without clearance would come across the Goa'uld protein marker and naquada in Sam's blood.

Janet re-packed her bag one-handed, keeping the other clamped on Sam's wrist.  When Sam showed signs of waking, Janet lightly slapped her face.

"Come on Sam, you need to wake up now.  I need you to walk with me to the car.  _Now_, Major."

Janet almost laughed when it was the use of rank that got the blue eyes open.  Sam was staring up at her, blearily trying to focus.

"Janet?"

"Yes Sam it's me.  You need to help me now, we're going to the SGC."

"Infirmary?"

Yes Sam, so I can patch you up again.  Now come on, I can't carry you by myself."

Sam pushed herself up until she was sitting and reached up to grab the counter with weak fingers.  Somehow they managed to get Sam to her feet and leaning unsteadily on Janet.  To walk down the hall and outside seemed to take hours, but finally Sam was lying on the backseat of Janet's car.  Janet took a couple minutes to put a proper pressure dressing on Sam's arm, discarding the already bloodied towel.  Sam had passed out again and Janet hurriedly got in the car and started the engine.  

The drive up to the mountain passed in a blur of red lights and missed stop signs.  She was waved through the gate with a quick flash of her ID and was relieved to see the airmen waiting with a gurney as she'd asked.  They were efficient in extracting Sam from her backseat, and were already moving towards the waiting elevator before Janet was out of the car.  Tossing her keys to another airman, she threw herself towards the closing doors and slipped inside.  She rubbed her face wearily as the elevator started the long descent to lever 21.  _Just another day at the SGC_.

*              *              *

Sam opened her eyes to the bright lights of the infirmary.  She had no sense of what the time was.  She didn't have much of a sense of anything, she realized, except for a dull throbbing in her right hand, arm, and shoulder.  

She moved her head fractionally to take in her bandaged hand and gauze wrapped wrist.  This brought everything back, although her memory of the drive was fragmented at best.  Sam groaned, knowing Janet was going to be extremely unhappy with her.  Members of the SGC were in the infirmary enough without adding self-inflicted injuries to the mix.  

As if hearing Sam's thoughts, Janet appeared at her side.  She flipped through Sam's chart briefly before closing it and resting it on her stomach to support her hands.  "He-ey, you're awake.  How do you feel?"  

Sam groaned again and gestured vaguely with her bandaged hand.  "Hurts, a little.  I don't think I can move much though."  

Janet moved to feel the pulse in her wrist, preferring the physical contact over the monitors next to the bed.  "Well that's not surprising, considering how much blood you lost.  We gave you two units when we got here but you're still a little drained.  As for the rest…you cut up your hand, wrenched your shoulder, and slashed your radial artery from wrist to elbow.  Do you mind telling me what happened?"  

Sam flushed and looked away.  Janet noted Sam's reaction with interest and waited patiently for an answer.  Sam's uninjured hand taped the blanket.  "I, ah, put my hand through my window."  

Janet raised her eyebrows.  "Yes, I saw that.  And I picked several pieces of glass out of your hand.  What made you do it?" 

 Sam bit her lip.  If Janet knew – if General Hammond knew – she'd be forced on downtime.  They'd make her take a break, and she couldn't afford that.  Her team couldn't afford that.  "I was angry, I guess.  I didn't mean to break the window.  It just happened."  

Janet kept her eyes on Sam, who stared back levelly.  After several seconds Sam looked away, and Janet sighed.  She put the chart on an unused instrument tray and sat in the chair by the bed.  She knew there was more that Sam wasn't telling just as Sam knew that as a doctor Janet couldn't ignore that.  "Sam, I need to know what happened.  It's my job, and you're my friend.  I'm worried about you."  

Sam stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then down at her wrist.  A thin line of pink marred the otherwise pristine bandages, where the stitches had leaked.  She knew she would be spending the rest of her life convincing people the scar wasn't from a suicide attempt.  But was that true? a little voice asked her savagely.  She pushed the thought down, determined to ignore it out of existence.  

She looked at Janet again, who was looking as anxious as Sam had ever seen her.  "I was angry.  At myself, I guess.  I felt like hitting something and I happened to be standing next to the window.  I don't think I meant to break it.  Really, Janet, it was stupid of me.  I don't know what I was thinking."  

That little voice was whispering 'liar' in her ear, and Sam clenched her fit to shut it out.  She'd put enough truth in her words that she hoped Janet would leave her alone, at least for the time being.  She just wanted to get out of there, go some place where she could seriously think.  

Janet leaned back in her chair and eyed her friend.  Although she believed what Sam was saying there was still something being hidden.  Several years of experience had taught her that Sam wasn't going to talk until she was ready, no matter how much Janet threatened.  

She patted Sam's blanket-covered leg.  "Alright, it was an accident.  That's what I'll put in my report.  But I want you to stay here for the rest of the night."  She held up her hand to forestall Sam's protest.  "Sam, you lost a lot of blood.  I'm not letting you go until I'm sure you won't faint on me.  Rest, and in the morning I'll drive you home.  It's only a few more hours."  

Sam nodded her reluctant agreement.  She closed her eyes against the headache that was starting in her temples.  She bit back a groan but couldn't control the grimace that flashed across her face.  "Headache?" Janet inquired.  Sam nodded minutely.  

"That's the blood loss.  I promise, it will be gone when you wake up.  Just a few hours."  

Sam nodded again and tried to relax her body.  Janet watched for several minutes to be sure her friend was asleep.  When Sam's breathing levelled out, she stood quietly and retreated to the almost comfortable couch in her office.  

Her initial report had been finished and left in General Hammond's in-box.  She'd arranged for a shift change for the following day so she'd be free to take Sam home.  She'd updated Sam's medical file and put her on a mandatory week of downtime.  Sometimes being the Chief Medical Officer definitely had it's advantages.  Now she just wanted to get some sleep.  She knew she needed to be as alert as possible in the morning to deal with Sam.  _Oh, Sam, just what is going on in that head of yours_.

*              *              *

Sam was awoken by the bustle and noise of an active running infirmary.  From her vantage point in the far corner it appeared as though an SG team had returned.  She sat up quickly, hoping for one insane moment that it was SG-1.  Just as quickly she fell back on the bed, light-headed.  Across the room, Janet kept one eye on Sam, and hurried over at her abrupt movement.  

"He-ey, Sam.  How are you feeling?"  A practiced hand reached for the pulse point on Sam's wrist, eyes flicking to the monitor before searching her face for any signs of pain.  

"I'm fine Janet.  I just sat up to fast.  Can I go home now?"  

Janet sighed, knowing there was no possible way to keep Sam in the infirmary much longer.  "Just let me finish signing off on SG-4 and we can leave."  She nodded towards a pile of clothes next to the bed as she started disconnecting the monitors and IV's.  "Go get dressed and wait for me in my office.  I won't be long." 

 Sam nodded, much relieved to be able to escape, even under the watchful eye of the CMO.  She watched Janet hurry away before taking a deep breath and flinging away the covers.  She kept a firm hand on the bed until her head stopped spinning.  When she was sure she could stand she grabbed the pile of clothes and headed to the locker room to change.  

Ten minutes later and feeling a little faint, Sam slouched on the couch and wondered what the Hell she was going to do next.  By the time Janet came in, all Sam had figured out was that she was going to get her team back, or die trying.  And that, she admitted, was a very real possibility.


End file.
